


Moonlight Song

by The_Hollow_Knight



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Haytham Kenway, Dark, Drama, Father/Son Incest, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Top Connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:48:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25650862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Hollow_Knight/pseuds/The_Hollow_Knight
Summary: During the trip to Washington's camp Haytham is bothered by some dark thoughts. Connor is trying to comfort him.The night unveils their darkest secrets, and this time each of them will show his different side - on the night which no one of them will write about in his journal.
Relationships: Haytham Kenway/Ratonhnhaké:ton | Connor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	Moonlight Song

The street was quiet and deserted. The wind was slightly shaking the branches of sleeping trees, and dark clouds were trying to veil the young moon, whose wonderful light was already shining over the hills and fields of her realm, slipping everywhere, even into one room of some unremarkable tavern.

A lonely man stood as still as a statue at the window and stared unblinkingly into the endless sky. His breath was even, though his hand, old and tired, was shaking slightly, clinging on to the window sash so desperately as if it wished to escape from an invisible prison to that pale light reflected in his frozen grey eyes.

And the moon, which was so far away and yet so close to him, was still shining in the sky despite the clouds gathering around her. So beautiful and so lonely, so young and yet so old, so calm and imperturbable, so cold and indifferent – so empty and so soulless – like–

“Father?”

God.

Haytham flinched as he heard Connor's worried voice and felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He turned his head – purely by instinct, only to see that familiar strong palm – and then, as he understood that there was no danger for him, turned to the window again. He breathed hard as he couldn't understand whether it happened because he'd been caught off guard and hadn't heard anything, or the reason was those horrible thoughts and presentiment that were still bothering his mind, covering his already-cold heart with ice.

“Everything alright?”

He slightly turned his head again only to say shortly:

“Yes.”

“That's not true.” His stubborn son – and he wasn't surprised at this in the slightest – gripped his shoulder a little tighter, as if urging him to turn back again. As he didn't get any reaction in reply, Connor tried to look into his face himself – Haytham felt a tense gaze on his cheek and turned away, having no desire to meet his eyes. “How long have you been standing here?”

This time there was no answer at all.

Then he heard a sigh, tired and a little irritated, and Connor went on once again:

“You've changed somehow since the last time we met.”

“Have I ever been merry before?” Haytham said, humming – though there was nothing but bitterness in that sad irony.

“No. But it's not like you anyway,” Connor stopped, as if thinking of what to say next. Then he added, “It scares me.”

“Huh, as if you _care_?”

“Of course I care about you! You may think of me whatever you want, but _I_ have never forgotten that you are my _father_ ," Connor fell silent again, trying to calm himself down – it was easy to feel how much he was offended by those words. Then he spoke again in a low voice almost reduced to a whisper, “You're reminding me of a girl I knew once. She lost her whole family and a year after that threw herself from a belfry in New York. Right before my eyes.”

“Do I look like a suicide?”

“No. But still… I'm worried about you,” Connor said, sighing heavily. Then, a few moments later, Haytham suddenly felt two strong hands entwining around his waist – slowly and cautiously, as if their owner tried to understand whether he was doing the right thing or not. As he didn't feel any resistance, Connor crossed his arms and pressed his chest against the father’s back – Haytham barely stopped himself from breaking such an unexpected embrace; the warmth of his son's body sensed clearly through their shirts fabric was calming, but at the same time he felt anxiety growing inside him. Connor's hands were a bit bigger and now – much stronger than his own. At other time, he would have thrown them off himself instantly, but now, for some reason, he didn't want to do that. “I feel that it's not about the business of your Order. You can tell me about it, that thing that is worrying you. As it seems like… we've finally started trusting each other.”

“I'm all right. Forget this,” Haytham replied in a cold voice and heard an irritated sigh once again.  
  
Then he finally turned back. The hands released him instantly – as if Connor hoped he would tell him everything so simply. What a pure naivety – and then he went over and sat down on the bed.

“Look, if we keep treating each other this way, we will never learn to trust one another.” This time he didn't manage to stop himself from laughing at such a glaring naivety, but Connor didn't back down. The next moment he felt those warm hands carefully take his palms – and flinched again but didn't show any resistance. “It may sound funny and naively to you, but it's true. We can be closer to each other, I know it. Why don’t you believe this? Why don’t you believe _me_?”

“I don't believe…” his lips curved in a horrible grin, and he looked away, still avoiding eye contact. No, actually, it was quite the opposite. He did _believe_ him. He believed that Connor wouldn't do any harm to him intentionally. That he actually wanted to become closer to him – hell, one didn't have to be a genius to see that clearly in his eyes. But he had experienced too much to believe that this naive faith of a child could stop the power of fateful delusions which had been ruining people's lives for centuries and so would never leave this world.

And yet…

He couldn't take his arms away from Connor's palms. It seemed like he wanted to do that, but at the same time – he didn't. On the one hand, it seemed so strange, unwanted, wrong, absurd, but on the other – so ordinary, so normal, so right. So needed. As it was so natural – to know that your relative worries about you. That they want to help you. To understand you. To comfort you. To share their warmth with you. And get it back from you in return. It was a natural thing for a _father and son_.

It should have been natural.

_God, how many years he hadn't felt the simple warmth of a human body?_

That was driving him insane.

“Your hands are cold as ice,” Connor spoke quietly again, and only now Haytham realized that all that time his son had been slowly rubbing his palms, trying to warm them.

“It doesn't feel like a warm place anyway,” Haytham replied, finally turning his head; Connor was sitting on a chair in front of him, now just holding his hands in his own.

Then Connor let go of his palms – and now it seemed like he actually didn't want that at all; probably because the coldness burned his barely warmed skin once those hands left his own – and stood up from the chair. Only to put his arms on the bed and look straight into his father's eyes, their foreheads almost touched each other. The tension between them was growing by the second.

If Connor decided to make physical contact and so try to get the truth from him, he wouldn't get anything. He wouldn't understand it anyway. He would only continue to live in his fairy tales with happy endings, which are hardly possible in a real life, and try to convince him of that as well.

And this fairy tale about a father and son fighting on opposing sides could hardly have a happy ending either.

_Could hardly have…_

It was simply irritating. He didn't feel good – but now it was getting worse than ever. He wanted to send him away – or at least tell to stop testing his patience. He couldn't bear the tension anymore. He'd had enough.

“If you don't want to sleep,” he started taking off his boots, showing clearly that he didn't want to talk any longer, “you can go downstairs, I'm sure you'll find lots of things to keep yourself busy. Read a book. Think of anything else. Frankly, I'm tired and want to take some rest, so I'm not going to entertain you anymore. What's more, I…”

He suddenly noticed a curious detail on his son’s pants (or rather, _in_ his pants. Thankfully, there was a burning candle in the room) – one couldn't think of a better pretext for sending somebody away – and, not musing much about its true meaning, went on in quite an unambiguous way:

“...remember one pretty girl that serves drinks in this establishment. If you hurry, she may agree to spend a night with you. I'm sure you will find it enjoyable as well.”

“Not a bad offer, of course. But I don't think I'm in the right mood tonight, farther,” Connor hummed in reply. Instead, he sat on the bed beside him and began taking off his own boots as well.

“Oh, you're definitely missing out so much. It's not everyday you can meet a girl like that,” however, this phrase Haytham said in half-displeasure and half-relief – after all, for some reason he actually didn't want to stay alone tonight. He was getting sleepy, so then, not caring much about what he was saying now, he added – the tension was dissolving, and he didn't want to build it up near his son anymore, “It feels like I haven't had it for ages either.”

“Then maybe we should… try?”

Connor said that phrase quietly, as if accidentally, so Haytham didn't understand its meaning at first. The only thought to flash through his mind was that he didn't like it at all, while those same warm hands were slowly entwining around his body once again, preventing any attempt to escape. However, he finally realized everything only when they closed around him in an iron embracement, pulling closer with that same carefulness, and he felt a hot breathing on his neck – as hot as that body in a nightshirt sitting behind him.

God.

His sleepiness faded away in an instant.

“You're suggesting…”

“Yes.”

He froze, simply trying to believe it.

“And… how long have you wanted that?”

“Have no idea,” was a rough reply as those hands held him a little tighter, pulling closer.

“You were the last person I would have expected as much,” said Haytham, letting the hand slowly come down his side while the other was firmly keeping him in place.

“I didn't expect this from myself either,” came a husky voice again – while the hand was coming and coming down, having no intention of stopping. “But it seems like you don't mind it anyway. Any other man would have tried to punch me already. I'd have also punched anybody for this.”

“You're actually stronger than me. Besides, I'm tired and have no energy to fight you. What's more, attempts to fight back in such cases are usually quite… arousing,” Haytham said quietly – though he doubted that Connor didn't realize that himself. But it seemed like those words were as arousing as resistance itself – because that swarthy hand, having made its slow way down, suddenly stopped on his thigh and began _squeezing_ it as slowly and palpably as before, while the other palm got under his shirt and started running over his skin. Which already made him breathe hard. “It's simply… s-senseless.”

“Well, that's a good explanation. But, you know, I remember one handsome man who we met after chasing Church, and his strange glances at you,” now, the hands were working faster, and one of them walked down, too – right under his breaches. “And I don't remember you being confused, enraged or anything else. Quite the contrary, I must say.”

“Oh, so it seems like nothing can hide from your eagle eyes,” slightly turning his head, Haytham hissed in reply. He couldn't remember that accident, but it didn't worry him in the slightest. The society might have already managed to spoil even such a man as Connor, but there was one thing his son didn’t manage to notice.

After meeting with Ziio he hadn't been interested in any whore, except for their potential function; but when he learnt about her death – he hadn't felt anything but pure disgust for them anymore. And now these words were infuriating him as nothing ever before.

Damn, there was no person in the world that could compare with her. In any way.

“Don't get mad,” the next second, a powerful hand, which had been caressing his thigh all that time, caught his palm that darted to strike back, and pressed it against the bed with such force that made him gasp in pain. While the other hand gripped his other palm so tightly that he almost stopped feeling it. “Sorry. I… I didn't want to hurt you. And I didn't want to blame you in anything. Actually, I meant to say a completely different thing. You may do with me whatever you want, but first, please, just listen to me, alright?”

“How… could you come up with such a thing?” catching his breath, Haytham finally managed to say quietly as Connor stopped squeezing his arms, now only holding them carefully in his own palms. At least, it seemed so. He'd been given enough to understand how any attempt to fight back would be met.

“I hear that such things sometimes happen between… men. I hadn't paid much attention to this until one day I heard a talk in a tavern. About this. Since then, I'd begun seeing such hints more and more often – or maybe I just started noticing them. It was horrible at first, but then–”

“You decided to try,” Haytham snorted, shaking his head – though there was nothing but pure contempt and deep disappointment in his tone. In whom of them more, he didn't know. On the one hand, he couldn't understand how his son – _her_ son – could simply _wish_ to do such a thing. On the other – he couldn't believe that he could ran so easily right into his hands after so many years of experience. And who of them was actually naive? “It's better not listen to what people talk about. High society and scum in taverns are actually quite the same things, the only difference is money.”

“I couldn't agree more. But still… please, listen to me. I'm not like them,” Connor spoke quietly into his ear – though there was nothing left from his former bravado and confidence. Haytham only snorted in despise, but he didn't back down and went on, trying to make his voice a bit firmer, “I know it sounds absurd, but… I hear it can help to get rid of any thought. To relax. No worse than with a woman. Frankly, I didn’t want it much before, but tonight…” he stopped, trying to gather his thoughts; Haytham strained more in his arms, now listening intently to him. “So… I understand that you'll never tell me what tortures you so much, but maybe I can help you another way? Because I… I really want to become closer to you. I want _you_ to become closer to me. I want to understand you. Let me relieve your pain. Make you feel better. I won't let you down. Though…” he trailed off in confusion before he could finish the sentence, “If you don't want this, I won't touch you.”

“You've already touched me,” Haytham said darkly; the hands got tense around him, as if trying not to tighten more their firm embrace. “Absurdity is a normal state of life. Get used to it.”

“Seems like you know it better than me,” Connor said, breathing harder with a hope in his voice, mixed with disbelief and even fear. “So, what do you think?”

Haytham hummed, falling silent before he could give an answer. That strange, horrible, discordant feeling came over him once again. It was wild, simply wild. The highest stage of absurdity. Just to think of that, _with his own son_ … Impossible. Was it just a bad dream? No, it was real, and he couldn't deny it any longer. But how could it make any sense with what they were bound by as well as with what divided them? That was incomprehensible. Connor couldn't wish to do this with him. And yet, how could he be surprised at that when he also felt that terrible tension in his pants aroused by his son's touches?

No, _he_ couldn't wish that. Simply couldn't.

Yet at the same time…

The warmth of these strong hands was so comforting. So _desired_. It beckoned him. He hadn't felt it for so many years – and thought that ice had completely covered his heart long before, so it had lost its passion and a will to live – a reason to live that turned into a senseless waste of remaining time to serving an idea. An idea, which once had been that very reason and then, after taking everyone he loved and betraying him in the most horrible way, become the last thing keeping him alive in this world. Until he met _him_. His son.

Connor was his only relative – safe for his sister in England with whom he hadn't managed to establish a warm relationship even after rescuing her – and for so many years he couldn't imagine that he was actually a _father_. It was hard to believe at first. Their first meeting face to face, not behind the bars of a prison camera, could scarcely be called warm – but that had been entirely in his style when he seemed to have lost the ability to feel anything. And yet it'd been the day when he finally began feeling something familiar, something hidden under their similar features, running through their veins inside of one at the same blood; the ice had started slowly melting in his heart day by day, and his soul had headed toward what was bringing it back to life. He'd been resisting that impulse, as for the mind giving in to the heart meant losing the cold and calculating self-control, which had been guiding him most of his life. But now – it seemed like his heart was getting stronger.

He hadn't wanted to confess this before – but he also wished to become closer to somebody. To remember what it meant – to be loved again. To love somebody. To escape from the icy prison which he put himself into by his own will. To break free. To find a reason to live.

To remember how it felt – to love his own _life_.

His mind dictated strictly “no way”, _and God, that wasn't about people calling it a sin_. The reason was the feeling that had been tormenting him for his whole life and could bring the pain hidden deep inside of him out. To love meant to suffer, worry and, therefore, make mistakes, become vulnerable, so it was better to reject this feeling and keep everything in himself, stand down on a firm ground, away from pain and feelings. Yet his heart was rebelling, crying, desperate to break free from the ribcage and _live_.

Yes, to love meant to suffer, be worried about somebody and bring somebody pain. And yet to love meant to _live_.

God, he wanted that, he actually _wanted_ that. And wanted that by any means, whatever the cost.

_For one final time?_

No, he surely needed to get rid of those thoughts. Right now.

“That's quite an interesting theory,” he finally spoke again in a low voice, which, however, didn't sound as coldly as before. “But I guess I don't have a freedom to choose my role, do I?”

Actually, he didn’t mind letting somebody take a leading position this time – it seemed to him even wilder to fuck his own son. What was more, he felt that only this set of roles could help them get closer to each other this night, and he needed to give up his self-control and entirely give in to the feeling. The thing was, he wasn’t sure that he was ready to lose it completely. And that Connor would manage to handle everything. As when he gave his consent, the future of their relationship would depend on his son’s actions in many ways.

Connor was silent, apparently because of embarrassment. But the other’s arousal pressed against his back spoke about his son’s preferences louder than any word.

Well, he wasn’t going to deprive him of this pleasure anyway.

“I must admit, you made up quite a clever excuse for your desire to fuck your own father. Strange but clever.”

“That’s not what you–”

“Of course it’s not,” Haytham hummed. Actually, he still didn’t doubt that Connor wished to become closer to him. Yet it didn’t reduce the desire to get some pleasure, not to speak about the predatory interest that had most probably been awoken by the helplessness of his prey that tried to break free from his steel grip just a few minutes ago. While he himself wasn’t sure that he would get any satisfaction from this act.

What was more, he had no idea how it felt – to be under somebody. To give in to somebody. To lose control over himself and his actions. Years before he had wanted to try that but hadn’t had enough courage till this day. And this thought made him squirm uncomfortably in these tenacious hands which didn’t seem to have any intention of letting him go.

“So you consent, don’t you?”

He finally turned his head and met Connor’s eyes for a moment. Then looked away and nodded, sighing heavily.

They were sitting in silence for some time, trying to get used to such intimacy. At last, Connor – after all, it was he who had begun this whole thing – cautiously wrapped his hands around father’s thighs and slowly pulled him closer. Haytham’s breathing became shallow instantly – he pressed his hands against the strong shoulders, refusing to give in and lose control over himself. Then the hands stopped pushing him, now only lying gently on his thighs. And Haytham, finally calming down, slowly sat on his lap himself, still breathing heavily.

They stopped once again, letting each other get used to greater closeness. His breathing was slowly calming down, hands holding tightly on to the powerful shoulders as if being afraid of loosing the support, elbows bent, but he was still keeping the distance and couldn’t make himself look into his son’s eyes. Why – he couldn’t explain that even to himself.

But soon he felt the other's hot breathing getting closer to him. And through his hair slowly, as if fearing to spook him and at the same time trying to dare to go on, came a warm hand and began gently massaging his skin – and for a moment it seemed to him so familiar that he froze up, trying to remember where he could feel it before. However, when the hand gently took his chin, trying to turn his head, the feeling disappeared, and he instinctively backed down – and the hand let him go the next instant.

“We need to… undress, right?” his son’s voice sounded extremely uneasy; it seemed like these circumstances confused Connor as much as him, and he decided not to hurry the events. Yet Haytham took advantage of that proposal and pulled away immediately, sitting down on the bed.

“Yes,” he nodded, feeling no relief, though. He knew it could only delay the inevitable – yet a little respite would be nice for them, too. “Just don’t look at me, alright?”

“But we’ll–”

“Not now. Please.”

“Alright,” Connor agreed and stood up to his feet. He wouldn’t have wanted to miss the coming spectacle – who haven't been aroused by watching their partner getting rid of the last things stopping them from enjoying the view on a desired body? – but Haytham knew he wasn’t ready to feel his son’s hungry look on his own skin. And he didn’t doubt he would feel it soon enough in the slightest.

The first drops of rain were already falling down outside the window.

Haytham quickly pulled off the remaining of his nightclothes and almost flew onto the bed to cover himself up with a blanket and look away the next instant; Connor was undressing much slower. He was only listening to the rustling clothes while two wishes of starting and delaying what was coming were tearing him apart from the inside.

What was more, he was still gnawed by that horrible, unbearable thought which he couldn’t get out of his head.

Though he actually wanted to get closer to him spiritually, he couldn’t wish to do that physically. Simply couldn’t. Because… he didn’t even know _what_ feelings it should bring him. Then again, how could he agree to this, what the hell had he been thinking of? The answer was slipping away, and the doubts kept torturing him relentlessly.

No way could it end well.

“Father?”

He shuddered when the voice cut off his thoughts, and turned to the sound, forgetting about his golden rule. And froze up the next instant, thrilled and startled.

Connor stood in the moonlight so beautifully blended with a mild flame of the candle, holding a nightshirt in his arm. His naked hands and shoulders looked powerful as never before, every muscle of his bronze body, strong spine, abs and tight thighs was visible. And in his eyes breathing with the spirit of youth was hidden something so attractive and familiar that made his father completely disarmed and unable to avert his eyes.

“It seems you like the way I look, huh?”

The new question brought him back to reality, and he shook his head, trying to get rid of the charms; then he looked forward again and saw Connor put his leg on the bed and slowly sit by his side. And judging by the growing smile on his face, the admiration in his father’s eyes was making him more and more confident with every passing second.

“You look great,” Haytham answered, not exaggerating in the slightest; yet seeing his son get closer, he unconsciously began pressing his back into the headboard.

Feeling Connor’s strength in all its glory, he knew he was cutting himself off his last opportunity to escape. From a bigger distance, he would have been able to confront him due to his greater experience; but in such circumstances, he couldn’t stand a chance. He was entirely at his mercy.

Hell, he’d never felt like prey that so voluntarily gave in into the hands of a predator.

“Should I bring you some drink?” Connor spoke again; he’d already placed his hands on either side of Haytham’s thighs, which were still covered under the blanket, but hadn’t touched him yet. Though now Haytham sensed the heat of his son’s body as clearly as never before. “For courage.”

“I’ll give you a piece of advice: never drink with a person with whom you’re going to spend a night,” Haytham answered, desperately trying to stay calm so his voice sounded more or less even. “Otherwise you may find unpleasant consequences in the morning.”

Yet, frankly speaking, he could actually use some drink now. Just for courage.

“I think you know it better than me,” Connor decided not to insist. Then he carefully put a hand on his hip and slightly pulled the blanket down, touching his skin with fingertips; Haytham shuddered instantly. “Come on, I’ll have to touch you anyway. Why are you so afraid of this? Or…” he suddenly became serious and backed down, still looking into his father’s face, “you don’t want to continue it?”

“No. I…” lowering his eyes, Haytham trailed off, not knowing what to say. On the one hand, it was senseless to lie to him as Connor perfectly sensed his fear, no matter how much he refused to admit it. On the other, the doubt was still tearing him apart as he was trying to understand whether he really wanted this or not. Yet he finally braced himself and said more or less firmly, “Just go on with it. Don’t stop.”

“Alright. But if you feel that you don’t want it anymore, let me know. I’ll stop immediately,” Connor said, and Haytham only nodded in reply.

The hands kept exploring his hips, slowly pulling the blanket down more and more – and Haytham could swear that he did like the way the other’s palms stroked, pinched and carefully squeezed his skin, god, he did like it. He’d never felt his body so clearly before and didn’t know what was going to happen next. It was turning him on more and more, weakening his resistance, and he felt that soon he would entirely give in to this impulse, yet he had no idea at what cost. And this uncertainty was probably frightening him most of all.

“You haven’t been with men in… this position before, right?” Connor began speaking again when the blanket had already been put aside, and he could clearly see two wonderful thighs whose pale skin he’d been exploring up and down in no hurry to proceed to the most desired part.

“Is it so obvious?” Haytham said with a stiff smile. His hips were still locked tightly as his whole being kept struggling against the desire growing inside him.

“Well, bearing in mind the way you’re constantly shuddering at my every touch and act just like I did the night one charming lady pulled me into her bed after I saved her – I think there can be only one explanation,” slightly smirking, Connor remarked. Now his hands were smoothly sliding up his sides, stomach, abs, as if trying to remember every fiber of the body beneath them.

“Oh, so it turns out you’re actually a ladies’ man, don’t you?” Haytham replied; for some reason, he wanted to laugh at that moment, though definitely not with the kindest laughter. No, instead, there was a strange and even horrible feeling rising inside his chest. Not that he was surprised by the fact that his son also had had partners for a night (especially remembering what he himself had been at his age), but that thought made him feel extremely uncomfortable, and the awful feeling was growing stronger by the second.

“Well, I’m not so enthusiastic at such things and usually don’t have much time for them – but sometimes it can be hard to resist your instincts. Besides, it actually relaxes and helps get rid of unpleasant thoughts,” Connor admitted, continuing gently stoking his skin. “What’s more, women told me that I’m quite good in bed. Though…” at that moment, he trailed off and stopped moving his hand, “I’m really doing this for the first time. With a man.”

“That I’ve already guessed,” Haytham replied distantly – he’d understood what he was getting into from the very beginning. Besides, the possibility of getting physical pain was the last thing to worry him now. “Do you know how it works in theory? Between men?”

“In general – I think yes. Besides, you can always give me a piece of advice in case something goes wrong. Someday everything happens for the first time in our lives,” Connor noted wisely, and his hands continued to study his father’s body, slowly approaching his chest. Then he stopped again and added in that same confused voice, “But I really don’t understand why after all that happened you decided to do this thing with me if you’ve never done it before.”

“Actually, there were days I did want to try it. I guess that was kind of a wish to try something new. What’s more, judging by what I’ve seen, the feelings must be amazing with a good partner,” Haytham answered, looking at the ceiling and concentrating on his breathing – that was helping him to relax, dulling his worry. “I didn’t have enough courage, though. Probably because there hasn’t been a right partner in my life.”

“So you consider me right?”

“At least it seems like you’re worth trusting,” for a brief moment, Haytham even smiled, hearing in his son’s voice almost childish joy and surprise. Though this smile was stiff, too, rather than anything else.

“I’ve hardly ever heard any kind word from you till this night,” Connor teased him as he probably hadn’t noticed any worried note in his father’s tone; his bronze hands had reached the ivory shoulders and now were slowly massaging them, for what Haytham was really grateful to him. “It seems like I’m the only lucky one to get to know you this way.”

“Believe me, you’re the first to have such an honor,” Haytham murmured. And despite the pleasant feelings he was getting at that minute, those words sounded as gloomily as no other.

Though he was slowly getting used to his son’s touches, and his body was relaxing, actually enjoying them, that strange feeling, which wasn’t coming from the physical sensations, didn’t want to leave him. That was tearing him apart more and more as he was plunging deeper into his thoughts, detaching from reality. Perhaps that was why he added a few minutes later – out of turn, almost accidentally, as he wasn’t thinking anymore of what he was saying now:

“You’d better not know how many whores were in my place. And how many people wanted to see me this way, I can’t imagine either.”

“So you’re saying that my mother was a whore to you, too?”

The warm hands left his skin – and in a moment it became cold and horribly uncomfortable – that he seemed to wake up from his thoughts when he suddenly realized what he’d just said, stopping breathing. Then he finally raised his head – Connor’s brown eyes looked serious and concentrated, as if trying to understand whether his father was going to tell him the truth or not.

“No. Never,” Haytham said quietly and looked away. As if he was afraid to see mistrust and rejection in them – no, _hate_ that had hurt him so much in other hazel eyes, whose owner’s glance once had been the greatest treasure he’d ever had. “She was the best woman in the world.”

“Then you’re not a whore with me either, do you understand this? It’s all different with me. I’m not like them.”

At last, he made himself look right into his son’s eyes, not breaking the eye contact – and was shocked when he finally realized of _what_ these eyes had been reminding him all that time. It was _her_ eyes – those honest brown eyes that were free from the hypocrisy of the society, the eyes in which, just like in his own, the fire and thirst for freedom had never faded away. The eyes in which he’d found care, love, and happiness that their owner had given him for such a short time, and yet he'd managed to remember them for his whole life. And it seemed like it all was returning to him now – as if a part of her that was still alive looked at him with that same sincerity, just like when she had been able to give him her warmth and love herself.

He remembered everything. He actually remembered. Looking at this young creature in whom _their_ features had woven so beautifully through their blood, and who was full of his own life, ideas and wishes at the same time. His son who was ready to share his warmth with him. And with who he was ready to share it in return, without fearing to get a stab in his back.

He was ready for this. He craved it with his entire being. Even if he didn’t know what was waiting for them ahead.

“Tell me that you actually believe this. That you actually believe _me_. That you believe you mean to me more than anyone else. Tell me that, father.”

It took a few moments for him to gather his wits. Then he took a deep breath and looked at him again, saying firmly:

“I believe you.”

Connor’s eyes gleamed charmingly with such a sincere, almost childish joy that Haytham didn’t have any doubt anymore – this step was worth it. If it helped them open and learn to trust each other – then it was really worth it. They both wished to become closer, and the reason wasn’t only their physical desire – no, the reason was something bigger and stronger than that. And whatever happened next – then so be it.

_Whatever happened…_

No. He still had one doubt.

“Just… just be careful,” Haytham added quietly, lowering his head and not looking at Connor anymore.

“I’ll be–”

“A man often does not notice when a desire to dominate overwhelms him. Especially if it was hard to get something. And in such… circumstances this desire can be even harder to notice and, moreover – to restrain,” slightly raising his tone, Haytham didn’t let him interrupt himself. His mind was still somewhat alarmed and confused, and he couldn’t do anything about it. “Just be careful with your desires. And don’t forget that you’re much younger than me. I don’t mention that tomorrow I’ll have to spend the whole day on horseback and then meet with Washington.”

“I understand this,” Connor nodded – though Haytham wasn’t sure that he actually understood his words. “I’ll be careful and won’t let you down. I promise.”

And he wanted so much to believe it, too. Sincerely wanted.

Hesitating slightly, Haytham took a breath and nodded, giving him a sign to go on, then lay back and put his hands near his head, trying to relax again. Connor put his arms on father's hips and began slowly stroking them before saying a few moments later:

“So, maybe it’s time to start?”

It took a few seconds for Haytham to soothe his hard breathing once again. And, clenching the bedsheet in his arms, make himself spread his legs.

Then he simply closed his eyes, trying not to think of what was coming.

Soon he felt something wet slowly enter his body – a finger moistened with saliva, judging by the sensations – which made him tense at once as his heart raced in his chest as though he’d just run a mile at the full speed.

No, even if he’d managed to make himself calmly spread his legs – and he tried hard not to imagine how he looked in his son’s eyes now – this was definitely beyond his will.

“It seems like we need something better than saliva,” Connor stated awkwardly, pulling the finger out of him.

“Take… a bottle of oil. In my bag,” and he didn’t know why he hadn’t said that before.

He was tensely listening to Connor rummage in his stuff – and the waiting seemed to be unbearably long hours once again – until he felt the bed bend under the other’s weight. Connor put his hands on either side of his head and froze for a second, as if trying to understand whether everything was going right now. Then, telling that he’d taken a flask of water as well, sat up straight and began opening the bottle with lube.

“I think you need to relax,” Connor noted in that same awkward voice, slowly pushing a finger inside his father once again. Though the finger was more slippery now and entered him rather easily, it was still difficult to move further, not to speak of the discomfort it was causing Haytham. “Or rather… need a help to relax.”

“It’s always easy to say,” Haytham smiled unhappily; he remembered himself telling encouraging words to his own partners for a night. So he was fully aware that it wouldn’t be easy for him either.

Having stretched him a little bit – and all this process was accompanied by not-such-a-blissful hissing and grunting – Connor decided to help him relax and began stroking his hip with his free hand, yet this time – more carefully and slowly, constantly observing his father’s reaction. At first, Haytham tensed and slightly shuddered at the suddenness, but soon actually calmed down, recognizing the touch of the familiar hand; though Connor’s palms were hard and a bit rough, now they seemed to be so _gentle_ that he unconsciously started to relax, concentrating on the sensations and forgetting about the discomfort. The palm now was slowly sliding from the outer side of his hip to the inner, becoming more and more confident – as if with every new movement Connor understood more clearly what his father needed – and soon the finger finally sank into him to the knuckle.

“Where… did you learn to treat your partner this way?” Haytham muttered, breathing heavily when the second finger had joined the first one. Though it was easier to let in, the feeling of discomfort returned to him instantly.

“I wouldn’t say that I’m actually good at it. Rather, I’m learning on the spot,” Connor confessed, continuing to stretch him. “I guess it just became easier with you than anyone else.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Women seem to me a completely different world, sometimes it’s hard to understand what they want. Besides, you’re not such a stranger to me,” Connor explained quietly. Haytham hummed, understanding him: he probably was a mystery to his son, a man who he sincerely wanted to understand and get to know. And he’d never stopped believing that someday he would finally find peace and understanding with him. A family.

Would he manage to?

Actually, he had no desire to think about that now.

Some time later – it seemed like Connor had been thinking of what to do next, as his touches didn’t have much effect anymore – Haytham heard a rustle and understood that Connor was moving closer to him. That made him tense again, and he barely managed to suppress an impulse to rise up and look what his son was going to do. The next moment he gasped in surprise – when wet fingers had approached his chest and – _good_ _Lord_ – playfully pinched his nipple.

“Hell…” was the only word that came out of his mouth with an exhale – as the next moment the fingers began to slowly circle and pinch that same hard nipple, slightly pulling it back and then gently squeezing over and over again. “And I thought that you… don’t like such close bodily contact.”

“Well, it all depends on a perspective. I actually don’t like it much when somebody touches me – but this is a bit different case,” Connor kept sharing his philosophy, smiling at him mischievously; Haytham only pursed his lips and snorted in reply. Indeed, it was one thing to do something like that to somebody else, it was another to be treated this way. _Hell, he clearly remembered that Ziio was the last person to receive such kind of pleasure from him._ “What’s more, it seems like you’re actually enjoying this.”

Enjoying this…

Hell, he couldn’t deny that he was really _enjoying_ this when – _ah!_ – when the turn of his second nipple came, and he barely stopped himself from letting out a _moan,_ suppressing it deep inside his chest. The next moment he realized that Connor had filled him with two fingers to the knuckles and now was _crooking_ them, as if trying to find something that would finally make him lose self-control.

“How are you feeling?”

“I d-don’t know. Wet, I guess,” Haytham murmured; the fingers kept lubricating him, not sparing oil in the slightest.

“Then, I think, that’s not bad at all,” Connor remarked, humming; as he grasped no chaste meaning in that phrase, Haytham let out a certain sound similar to an irritated roar, and lay back on the pillows again while the strong fingers kept teasing his ass.

No, this night would definitely become the death of him. Whatever that meant.

When the turn of the third finger came, Connor did something entirely unexpected – yes, he hadn’t expected that the other’s teeth would suddenly take his long-suffering nipple and slightly bite it, a rough tongue begin circling around his sensitive skin, sucking it, while the other free hand continued doing the same thing as before on the other side of his chest. Then the lips, leaving light kisses across his still-strong abs and muscles, began flattering down his body straight to the dearest part of him, and he wished against his wishes they just wouldn’t reach it.

Because he was _already_ moving his hips towards these bronze fingers that were so sweetly torturing him, and these worrying signs didn't let go of his tired mind that was losing the support of self-control by the second.

"Stop teasing me..." Haytham mumbled, putting his head on the pillow; three fingers, almost sheathed to the knuckles, were loosely walking inside his ass now, and he felt nothing but a dull, nagging pain in his bottom anymore.

“I'm doing this for your own good," Connor remarked fairly, finally showing mercy to him; yet the next moment Haytham shuddered uncomfortably when the fingers left him at last, leaving only irritating emptiness inside.

At the thought of something _bigger_ waiting to plunge into his aching ass he already wanted to whine. And hardly had he thought of that...

“Hell...”

No, now these two diametrically opposite wishes were simply driving him crazy when he felt a wet tip touching his tender entrance!

“It seems like I'm not the only one to lose patience,” Connor remarked, slightly pushing his hips and moving a little bit deeper into his father; he didn't manage to proceed further due to the growing resistance on the part of the extremely stubborn ass that didn't want to let him sink into its depths. “But... please, just try to relax.”

"E-easy for you to say," Haytham exhaled, clutching the bedsheets in his arms as he closed his eyes shut; the strong hands took his thighs, holding him in place, and the other's hot flesh kept pushing into him, bringing nothing but blinding pain that had killed the wish to continue anything immediately.

No, he'd expected pain, of course he'd expected it. But whether because he wasn't used to it, or the reason was his age, the pain seemed to be awful now. Simply unbearable.

God, how could anyone enjoy this if it was bringing such a horrible pain?

“How are you?”

He heard a worried voice and made himself slightly open his eyes. Connor's eyes, so unusually close and anxious, were looking at him through a blur in his own, arms bent at the elbows standing on either side of his head. He still felt the other’s flesh throbbing inside him, but the break at least reduced this terrible pain that seemed to have no end. “Maybe you’d better lean on me? Or… should I stop? As it really… must hurt you much.”

For a few seconds, Haytham was lying motionless, trying to catch his breath and looking straight into his son’s eyes. Unconsciously – and probably that was the real reason why he still couldn’t relax at all – he expected to see a sneer, despise, sense of superiority, triumph in them. He expected Connor to stop being gentle and careful and become rough and wild, which seemed to be so fitting to his nature, to stop sparing him and finally make his shitty father pay the debts. Because he didn’t deserve any tenderness, no, and he was fully aware of that. And yet…

He didn’t see anything like that in his son’s eyes. Not in the slightest.

He used to think that this position was beneath his dignity. That it was a burden of some dirty whores that had been pleasing him for money. And he could never imagine that one day he would be lying with his legs spread wide, pounded into the mattress with a big dick inside his inappropriately tight ass. That he would become so accessible, so vulnerable, and would let somebody take him for nothing so easily. And not just “somebody” – that was his enemy, an Assassin. No, not just enemy – that was his own son.

And yet, here, by Connor’s side, he didn’t feel anything like that at all. He felt only the warmth of the other’s body, so needed and close, which he wanted to touch and snuggle up to. And in Connor’s eyes he saw nothing but worry and sincere wish to help.

“You’ve probably forgotten what it’s like to feel love and warmth. But I know how to care about others. Please, trust me, father. I won’t let you down.”

Haytham slowly stretched out his trembling arms and put them around his son’s shoulders, burying his nose in the swarthy neck and pressing up against Connor’s body as closely as he could. Then he closed his eyes, throwing himself entirely at his mercy.

The next seconds passed agonizingly slowly – he endured them all without making a sound while the other’s flesh was filling him inch by inch, almost ripping apart from the inside. But at the same it didn’t seem to be such a great torment anymore – not when he was holding on to these powerful shoulders and felt all the warmth Connor was sharing with him now. When his son’s hand was holding his thigh, slowly guiding himself into his body, and he was digging his nails into the broad back as though it was a salvation for his fading life.

“I’m inside you. This time, fully inside you.”

Haytham finally managed to open his eyes – and it seemed like he’d just learnt to breathe again. Desperately trying to catch his breath, he slightly pulled away from his son and looked into the worried eyes – Connor slowly put him on the pillows and froze up, motionless inside of him. That horrible pain was slowly fading away, and he finally became conscious of this strange and yet such a new feeling of the other’s presence deep inside himself.

“How are you?”

“A-alright. I think,” Haytham said in a strangled voice – it was still too hard for him to breathe.

“What should I do?” and this question sounded so childishly panic and yet strange in this situation that Haytham couldn’t help smiling – though he himself didn’t know how he managed to do that.

“M-move.”

“Can you take it? You look so exhausted.”

“We’ve experienced a worse thing today while… escaping from the guards from the entire quarter,” still surprised at his self-control in such circumstances, Haytham tried to encourage him with that same weary smile. “Come on. I wouldn’t have gone through the intrusion into my own ass just… for nothing.”

“Alright, then,” Connor calmed down a little and finally began moving his hips. “Just–”

“Just start it already!”

Fortunately or not, Connor fulfilled his request, and Haytham was left with no other option but to fully concentrate on his own sensations.

He felt his son sliding inside him, slowly and smoothly; first getting out of him and leaving strange, disturbing emptiness inside, then filling him up but brining only a dull pain over and over again. Yet with every movement it was getting easier to endure the discomfort: relaxing, his body finally managed to accommodate to the new experience, and it didn’t seem wrong to have the other’s flesh inside anymore – rather, it did feel welcome and now actually seemed to complement his very being. It was like feeling his body in a new way – sensing every fiber of his ass, his stunning _tightness_ so amazingly combined with the hot wetness that Connor had created in him with oil. He sensed his own being, sensed his own son – and he knew he’d felt such great closeness only once in his whole life.

There was definitely something masochistic in this whole thing – on the one hand, he seemed to feel only pain, bearable, but still pain; on the other – it was pleasant. Not the pain but the intimacy – these warmth, care and tenderness which could be felt in every movement of his son – was incredibly pleasant. And for that he was ready to bear anything, even if it meant getting nothing but that same dull pain.

“How are you feeling now?”

“Alright,” Haytham barely managed to utter, having no concern about his breathing anymore; he’d entwined his legs around Connor’s torso, making him bend lower, so that he could feel his son deeper inside himself, sense all his warmth, know where he was moving inside him now, feel that warm wet tip that was so carefully touching his sensitive walls, trying to find something it still just couldn’t find. He would have definitely been shocked by these strange desires before, but not now.

“It doesn’t seem to bring you amazing sensations,” Connor noticed, still breathing quite hard, too. It didn’t look like he was getting proper pleasure from the process – probably because giving mutual satisfaction to his father was an equally important goal to him, and it didn’t let him fully enjoy Haytham’s body. “What should I do so you could enjoy this as much as I do?”

“There must be some spot that… brings pleasure,” Haytham explained, breathing hard again once Connor started slowly picking up the pace. “Though I’m not sure anymore that I do have it inside me, but… j-just keep changing the angle, and then–”

He didn’t finish the sentence – as he was suddenly cut off by one short breath, eyes opened wide; at that moment Connor hit something inside him, and he felt a sudden flash of incredible pleasure that struck him in the head and flew with a tremor through his whole body.

“It seems like I know what to do now,” Connor smiled. He increased the pace a little bit, and his movements became more confident instantly, which was not the case with Haytham; his breathing became ragged, and successive flashes of pleasure – _oh **god**_ – were taking the ability to control himself away with every passing second. “Hold on, old man, keep breathing. I’ll wait for you.”

Truth be told, he wasn’t sure he would be able to breathe anymore.

Slowly, they were picking up the pace: Haytham felt his son’s great, wild, irresistible power that Connor barely managed to hold back, this passionate desire that was turning him on so much. But a certain worry had returned to him as well: he could hardly think clearly from the overcoming pleasure, control himself so as not to give in to the feeling, not to lose himself in the overwhelming ecstasy that threatened to take him any minute now…

“Father?”

Quiet and yet such a piercing voice returned him to reality, and he, still struggling not to give in to the veil of pleasure, opened his eyes and looked up.

“I…” there was a clear plea in Connor’s eyes, but he didn't seem to have enough courage to say it out loud, “I want to _hear_. You.”

“You want to hear me…” at first, Haytham struggled to understand what he meant. But a few seconds later he suddenly realized that, and the thought appeared to him strange and even horrible – because it was that very thing which he’d been trying to hold back deep inside his chest. “You want to hear me… _moaning_?”

“Y-yes,” Connor’s voice became even more hesitant, breaking from the growing arousal. “I n-need you.”

“But–”

“No one will hear us.” And Haytham suddenly realized that it was true: the rain outside the window was pouring heavily, pounding deafeningly on the roofs, yet he hadn’t noticed that till this very moment. “Please. I need to know that you’re actually enjoying this. That I’m giving pleasure to you. Don’t hold it back.”

_No one will hear you. No one but me._

Haytham froze up, aware of that same painful feeling that now was tearing him apart again, becoming more oppressive and fiercer in its desire to break out of his chest. That was driving him crazy, the last echoes of any conscious thought were fading into nothingness, which meant giving in to the passion, pleasure and feelings that had no worry, no thought, no mind, to break the control over himself completely…

“Please, father, give in to me. I won’t let you down.”

A few seconds later – and he couldn’t believe that it was actually _him_. That strange, deep and incredibly quiet sound broke right out of his chest – and it seemed like something opened inside him, setting free bit by bit and making feel better by the second. New sounds – louder, lingering and yet as deep as the first one – were coming out, relaxing him and taking away the last bit of the ability to think away. The last reins of self-control turned into irrepressible, wild passion, and no, he didn’t resist the desire any longer – not when he heard a hungry _roar_ close to his ear and felt strong hands so desperately clinging to his hips, squeezing two soft cheeks and guiding him closer to the body above him – _and hell, he hadn’t felt him so deep inside himself, he could swear he hadn’t._ When the hot power inside him was picking its pace, filling completely to the hilt, and the flashes became more frequent, turning into pure and endless pleasure that engulfed him entirely and left no room to anything but the overwhelming _feeling_.

The last wall between them was broken the moment he felt the taste of his son’s lips on his own – when he felt the hot tongue breaking into his mouth, and he kissed him back with that same passion. It seemed like something shot him in the head, his hands entwined around Connor’s shoulders, nails sank into his blades, legs locked tightly over his back, and their movements turned into pure battle. Their roars and moans blended into a single whole, tongues twined as they tried to dive deeper into each other, biting each other’s lips, enjoying the taste of one and the same blood – as if there was nothing in the world except for them and their feelings.

When Connor had almost picked a furious pace, Haytham managed to move his hips toward his son’s arousal and _clench_ tightly around him, not letting go. The next second he heard a surprised roar in his ears – but it didn’t distract Connor in the slightest, no. The roar turned into something truly beastly – that made the hot young blood boil in his veins, his movements quickened, and he began pounding into the body beneath him, trying to take his father deeper, faster, harder – while Haytham was struggling to pick his own rhythm, pushing his thighs toward his son, clenching around him for a second and then letting go, but still failed to unite with him, to match his rhythm, and so was wasting his energy.

“C-Connor…”

At some point, Haytham realized that he couldn’t breathe any longer – and then, hopefully, the pace began slowing down until it became steady and measured. Just the one he needed so much.

“Everything alright?”

“Y-yes,” Haytham only nodded shortly in reply, still trying to catch his breath.

“It seems you like this pace more,” Connor noticed, continuing to move slowly inside him.

When Haytham had caught his breath a bit – he knew he wouldn’t be able to do it completely anyway – he finally managed to join Connor’s rhythm. Now their hips were moving in synch, meeting each time Connor thrust inside his father, and Haytham was smoothly sliding on the warm flesh toward his son – bit by bit the struggle in their movements was fading away, replaced by the sense of unity which they both had been seeking all that time. And this feeling of cohesion in closeness, which they’d finally achieved, was probably the best thing they’d experienced during the night.

“You want me… t-to lose… my mind… completely, d-don’t you?” Haytham asked in a shaking voice, smiling happily as he was lying on the pillow and looking at his son through a veil of pleasure in his blurred eyes, gently running his fingers through the black mane; somehow Connor had managed to change the angle and take him even _deeper_ , slowly sinking into his body toward that very spot of happiness, so Haytham could hardly tell what was real now, forgetting all the fear and worry that seemed to have finally left his tired mind.

“I would say the same about you,” Connor smiled back, removing a strand of silver hair from his father’s wet forehead. At that moment, leaning closer, he entered him particularly slowly, holding his hips as he plunged into his body as deep as never before. For that he was rewarded with a longer, languid moan, which sent shivers down his spine – Haytham, feeling full again, clenched around his son as hard as he could. And Connor, finally sinking into him to the hilt, touched Haytham’s forehead with his own and froze for a few seconds, becoming one breathing and feeling with him.

“If only you knew how… great it is to feel you,” Connor breathed these words out into his parted lips, barely touching them with his own before coming out once again. It seemed like they made this precious feeling last a little longer, savoring and remembering every second of that deep sense of each other’s body, that great closeness, warmth, unity – and _completeness_ at the same time. “You seem so cold and unapproachable outwardly when in fact you’re so warm, tight and deep inside. So close and not a stranger at all. Amazing.”

“You sound like you’ve… dreamed to do this with me your whole life,” Haytham murmured, feeling a new thrust inside himself; Connor began slowly picking the pace again.

“If I knew you for my whole life, I think we would have had a completely different relationship,” this rather gloomy answer made Haytham shudder at once; the ability to think holed up too deep in the corner of his consciousness to help him realize the meaning of those words right away. But before he could attach to them any importance, the feel of the other’s arm on his palm distracted him. The next moment he saw Connor take his hand into his own, twining their fingers together, and slowly lift it. Then he put it up to his mouth and gently _kissed_.

Breathless and thrilled, he watched as Connor, warming his hand with breathing, was tenderly caressing it with his lips, slowly approaching the knuckles and fingers. As the tongue was carefully slipping between them, as Connor was licking his fingertips, bending the phalanx and gently biting his skin at the crease of the joints. As that same rough and yet so _gentle_ tongue and lips were drawing invisible patterns on the inner part of his palm, going down until Connor gave his wrist the final kiss. Then he put father’s hand up to his cheek and gently released it.

“I wish you could stay the same tomorrow. At least when I’m around,” Connor said quietly, looking away. And there was something so painful and desperate in his movements and eyes that stung Haytham right in the heart, yet he – as well as his son – could do nothing about it.

Then his arm gently stroked the swarthy cheek – softly, with almost _fatherly_ tenderness which he was only capable of – and slightly pressed on it, making Connor turn his head; the hazel eyes were full of sadness, which broke his heart completely. Because that was how his own eyes probably looked now, too.

Connor leaned over again – and this time there was no passion or rivalry in their kiss. He pulled his palm into his father’s hair and slowly drew him closer – Haytham put his trembling arms around son’s shoulders, one of his palm went through the black strands – and the other bronze hand grabbed his thigh and pulled him as close as it could. They were biting each other’s lips again, yet this time there was nothing but furious desperation in their movements. They feared to break their unity, to stop, to tear the newborn bond that had just brought them closer to each other. Feared to lose something so dear and precious that was driving them both to madness in the attempt to save this fragile link bound to break the night it was born.

Connor was picking up the pace once again. Everything looked like before – but at the same time everything was absolutely different. He was diving into his father harder and fiercer, desperately, almost pressing him into the bed – Haytham was digging his nails into son’s back, leaving bloody scratches and moving in synch to Connor’s rhythm, keeping up the pace and not letting him go. Their moans turned into roars again, movements – into beastly madness which they couldn’t cope with – they could only obey it and go straight toward the inevitable.

There was a moment when Haytham understood that he wouldn't find his release without any help, and reached out his hand to his own erection. Yet Connor was faster – he put his palm around the pulsating flash and began quickly stroking it up and down, slowing down his own pace. A painful cry came out of Haytham’s throat – that was a torment, a pure torment: his old body sought for relief that still hadn’t come, yet he had no energy to bear the tension any longer. He only held tighter on to the powerful shoulders, biting his bottom lip, expecting, craving the end…

And when the end came, he let out a guttural moan, arched his back and dropped his head to the pillow, feeling the tension leave him together with the last of his energy. His vision was blurred – but with that came the long-sought relief which he hadn’t known for ages, the release, so sweet and bitter in this terrible, wild agony.

“C-Connor…”

He expected to hear his son’s moan of relief, his voice – hell, to _feel_ his release deep inside himself. But now, to his surprise, nothing was happening or changing. And yet that strange and horrible sense of familiar worry returned to him, growing stronger by the second.

Because the only thing he got as an answer was heavy, ragged breathing – beastly, wolfish, not human-like at all – and the feeling of somebody keeping thrusting into him, slowing and then picking up its unsteady pace again. The next moment he realized that the candle had gone out, and he couldn’t see _anything_ in pitch darkness.

“Connor?”

Immobilized, he was suddenly pressed tightly against the bed, the breathing became louder, burning his ear like a live coal. And he froze when a huge lump stuck in his throat along with a pure _fear_.

“Connor, w-what are you…?”

And the beast clearly sensed his fear. The strong fingers clutched his hip like claws, the pace became slower and yet more ragged, and it didn’t bring any relief to feel that spot inside him being hit over and over again. The beast leaned over him as a predator that had finally gained control over its prey.

Right. _Control_. That was what it needed.

God…

“Connor, l-listen…” his voice trembled as he understood that all his attempts to talk sense into his son would be in vain: if a beast loses control over itself, nothing will be able to stop it. But he couldn’t just lie and let it do with him whatever it wished, he couldn’t give up such power over himself. No, not only that. He simply didn’t know _what_ it could do with him right now.

“C-Connor…”

He felt a hand on his collarbone, the hot breathing moved to his neck, and he went silent immediately, trying to breathe as quietly as he could. The fingers took his chin and slightly turned his head aside, now so eerily _gently_ stroking his cheek, lips lightly touched his neck, tongue began drawing a wet circle on his skin, as if preparing him for something, expecting–

“Connor!”

He gasped when the teeth closed on his neck with such force that seemed to tear his skin in pieces. But they most probably left a bloody bite that made his heart pound desperately against the ribcage.

A mark…

No, Connor couldn't do this to him. His fears couldn't become real with _him_. It couldn’t be _him_. Not _him_.

Panic closed over his mind. Haytham tried to get out of his grip, push him away just a little bit – but all he could do was press his hands helplessly into the shoulders, which seemed to be as strong as a stonewall that couldn’t be pushed away, that was impossible to fight back. And then realized that he forgot about the most important rule he’d voiced tonight himself.

Nothing arouses a beast as much as resistance of its prey.

“Connor, no!”

His hands were seized and pressed against the bed instantly, absolutely immobilized and clenched in the steel grip so tightly that he couldn't feel them anymore. And the next second he felt such a horrible pain that seemed to pierce him like a blunt blade from the inside – trying to break free, he had accidentally changed the angle himself, and now it was bringing him nothing but agony and _pain_. Yet nobody was concern of his feelings anymore.

“Con–!”

He tried to scream, to plead, to wake his son up from this monstrous state – but all his cries remained gasps in his chest that nobody’s ear could hear. It felt like being stabbed from the inside, ruthlessly, without a chance to catch his breath – each ragged thrust was pounding him into the mattress with such force which he’d never known before, his whole body rocking, eyes already burning with unbearable wetness. He wanted to disappear, to die, _anything,_ just to escape from this tearing pain that overshadowed everything else in the world, from these powerlessness, desperation, torment. Just to forget that it was actually _him_ , not anyone else. But the pain wasn’t fading, and the torture already seemed to last forever.

“Connor…”

Just a few moments later, when the last quiet sound of the name fell from his lips, his body finally gave in, and his head dropped lifelessly to the pillow, the final thrusts followed, one by one becoming harder and deeper – on the last one, the most powerful, which his body remembered as no other, a hand came through his hair, rough lips touched his own, and Haytham felt the burning seed filling him up. Then the flesh finally left his body, brining no relief to him.

“Father?”

The sound of the hoarse, surprised and confused voice, which he seemed to hate as much as nothing else in the world, began bringing him to his senses. With the last of his strength, Haytham swung his fist and punched him – at least this time his palm didn’t meet any resistance, and he understood there was nothing holding him down anymore. Moaning painfully, he made himself turn over on his belly and try to move toward the edge of the bed and leave this place as quickly as possible – but the next moment he realized that his back and everything below it was paralyzed completely with unbearable pain, and didn’t manage to move an inch. Yet the peak of desperation struck him only when the two strong hands began entwining around his waist, pulling him closer again, and he seemed to go mad in their steel grip, this time driving his body to the point of complete exhaustion himself.

 _“_ Let me go, dammit, let me go...!”

In hysterics, he struggled to break free, wriggling on the bed, scratching, trying to throw off these hands, which of course were much, much stronger than his own, and didn’t understand he was making it worse for himself. He didn’t understand anything anymore: the unbearable pain – physical and mental – powerlessness, fury, weakness, desperation, hate, humiliation, and, the most horrible of all – disappointment mixed into a single whole that completely overcame him, destroying the last shards of ability to understand and think once again. He swore, threw curses, tried to cry through coughing – but the only sounds coming out of his chest were ragged gasps, similar to sobs, yet he was hardly able to breath: it seemed like the air couldn’t reach his lungs, being stopped by that same nightmarish pain, and he tried to catch oxygen with his mouth just to take in a bit of it. Tears were running down his cheeks, burning his skin – but who cared about them when such _pain_ was tearing him apart as nothing else in his life before.

“I won’t. You may go wherever you want in the morning, but not now and definitely not in this state.”

At last, it became easier to breathe, and his consciousness began returning to him bit by bit. He had no energy to fight back, stopped crying and struggling, and the strong hands loosened their grip, now only embracing him. Yet the tremor was still rocking his body as much as those half-sobs, which he was trying to suppress in his chest in an attempt to get himself together and finally calm down.

“Here, drink some water. You’ll feel better.”

Haytham felt an iron opening of the flask on his lips and drank greedily the offered water. At first, he coughed, but when his breathing had improved, he managed to take a few careful sips. Then the flask was taken away, and soon he found himself covered with blanket, still leaning his back against the warm body behind him. The fog in his head was slowly dispersing.

“I… I don’t know what’s got into me. It seems like something turned my head, and I stopped controlling myself. Stopped realizing what I was doing. I…”

His voice trembled, and Connor went silent before he could add quietly:

“I didn’t want that. I’m sorry.”

Haytham only snorted in despise, not turning back to him. Ha, he hadn't wanted that. He had wanted that, sure as hell he'd wanted. Even if he wasn’t realizing that. He'd wanted too much from him, wanted something that his father hadn’t been ready to give him. Instead, he’d had him like a cheap whore, and no “sorry” could erase what had happened – not when he was tortured by that awful pain which still didn’t let him breathe and move his body in a normal way, bruises on his hands weren’t going away, bloody mark was burning his skin, and the hot seed was still stinging his body from the inside, reminding about that unbearable shame over and over again. He’d acted exactly like a savage that suddenly got something which he’d wanted to have so long and, overwhelmed by his desire, forgot about everyone and everything – that was what the Assassins' ideology had been gravitating to in recent years. He should have never let him anything like that.

Besides, had his childhood anger and grudge at his estranged father been reflected in that act? Every child wishes to have two loving parents, and though his son was deprived of them both, he’d yearned to meet the one who was still alive. Yet when he found him, he'd got a cold, secretive enemy who he’d been compelled to kill by one crippled old man craving his revenge. A childhood grudge that over the years of compulsion had turned into such a horrible desire. What was more, he actually didn't know who he despised most of them: Connor was a thoughtless young man that had just started an adult life while he, Haytham, was an old warrior who should have been much more sensible. Yet…

He didn’t know one thing: if Connor wanted him only physically and hadn’t managed to control himself from the very beginning, everything would have happened the same way but much faster, or… it would have been even worse? On second thought, he didn’t want to know the answer at all.

“Look…” Connor made an attempt to speak again, but he didn’t react at it anyhow, sitting still in his embracement. “I don’t know how I can prove you anything after that, but… I really just wanted to get closer to you. I didn’t want to take any advantage of you, especially against your will. I… I’m just trying to understand you. I _want_ to understand you. But every time it seems to me that we’re getting closer to each other, you begin pushing me away. I admit I let you down and don’t deserve your trust, but… we all make mistakes. Please, don’t shut me out again. Because… because I won’t stop trying to get closer to you. I’m ready to be open with you, but only if you’re ready to be open with me. I can’t do everything alone. We can do this only together. Why can’t you tell me what is bothering you if it’s about us both? Why can’t you just explain this? So I can simply _understand_ you?”

Haytham was silent for some time, having no desire to answer anything. Yet he spoke at last – and his voice was still horse and quiet:

“You won’t understand it anyway.”

“But why?” It seemed like he heard childish surprise in his voice and so smiled sadly to himself. “I’m an adult man. I _can_ understand you. But I won’t if you don’t tell me that yourself. Do you act this way just because you… because you simply don’t believe that we can actually be together? That we can be a family?”

Haytham had to bite his already-wounded lip so as not to laugh at those naïve words. Because that was the whole reason.

He knew perfectly well that it was senseless. That they should have never tried to get closer to each other – just because they simply _couldn’t_ live in peace with one another. He was a Templar, Connor was an Assassin. That was all. He wouldn’t understand him – simply wouldn’t hear. Just like he hadn’t heard him tonight. And when he understood everything… it would become too late. One wrong step by one of them – and their fragile peace would end the next second. The day when one of them took the other’s life would come, and nothing would be able to stop it – not his son’s silly dreams, not their blood, _nothing_. And the thing that had happened tonight…

The thing which he'd allowed to happen tonight – it was a mistake. Just a silly, absurd and ridiculously horrible mistake. He knew that feelings are a weakness for a man. That people lose the ability to think clearly and fully evaluate their actions, lose control over themselves. But he’d forgotten that – no, let himself ignore – and so had to pay in full. He’d wanted a bit of warmth in his life, a bit of love, a bit of relief, a bit of… God, all these years of experience – and make such a silly mistake! Really, who of them was actually naïve?

Or…

He really just didn’t see that they had another way out?

“I… You’re stronger than me,” Haytham finally spoke in that same quiet voice, still not turning to him. “I don’t mean physically but… spiritually probably. And I… it seems like I’m getting weaker. Day by day. Unless… I’ve already become weak. Completely.”

_Like that girl that ended her own life when they took her whole family away from her. Almost whole._

“We’re all weak,” Connor spoke quietly, pulling him a bit closer and putting his chin on his father’s shoulder – yet Haytham felt only shivers crawling down his spine at those horrible thoughts. “But we care about each other, and love makes us stronger. Together we can handle anything, do you understand this? That’s the only way that works.”

Connor went silent, apparently waiting for answer. But he didn’t answer – whether because he didn’t know the answer, or simply because he… couldn’t answer.

“You know, though it’s only been a short time since our first meeting, I… I know that I already love you. And I want this feeling to get stronger. Mother… she didn’t talk much about you, but… every time we sat by the fire in our hut and began talking about you, she always changed, becoming happy again. She always talked about you with such a warm and yet… sad smile. She didn’t hold any anger at you. She loved you, loved you with all her heart, and those memories – they were memories of the happiness you gave to her. And I believe that you loved her as much as she loved you. Even if you had to leave her then.”

At that moment, Haytham sniffled – as if something prickled his nose, filling his eyes with warm wetness. And he smiled – weakly but no less happily, even if sadly at the same time.

“Achilles also told me about you. I… I love him, too, but, to be honest, I don’t believe what he says about you. Because I believe _her_. Only her.” One warm hand took his palm and slightly clenched it – and he did the same thing in reply. “Believe me or not, I waited to meet you for my whole life. Honestly. Even after Achilles agreed to take me as a pupil – or maybe then I started waiting for that more than ever before. I didn’t expect you to meet me with open arms,” it seemed like he heard a quiet laugh and so didn’t manage to hold back a chuckle either, remembering their first meeting – though now there was a warm tear flowing down his cheek, “yet I’ve never lost faith that someday you’ll manage to accept me. And that I’ll also manage to understand you.”

Connor paused, gathering his thoughts, while Haytham was trying to handle the tremor overwhelming his whole body – he couldn’t hold back his feelings burning stronger in his heart that had finally got free from the eternal ice.

“I love you, father, do you hear me? I love you as a son. And I’ll do everything I should to help you believe that we can be a family despite our Orders and beliefs. I won’t give up even if I start doubting at some point and meet new mistakes on my way – mine, yours, it doesn’t matter. I’ll stop, think over it and try to understand what have gone wrong. But I’ll never back down. And the thing that happened tonight… it happened because I… was afraid to let you go. Because I love you and don’t want to lose you again. Not when I’ve finally found you.”

Connor pulled him a little bit closer, embraced him a little bit tighter, still resting his chin on his shoulder, but Haytham only looked away – so his son couldn’t see his tears which he didn’t try to hold back any longer. As well as those barely audible sobs inside his shaking chest.

“I guess you’ll never tell me this, but… I think that if you let me do what you’d never let anyone else before, it means that… you love me, too. And if you actually enjoyed it after all, it means that it… was worth it, too.”

Connor went silent again, apparently hoping to hear him. Yet as he got no reply, he only sighed tiredly and released him from the embrace – Haytham lay down after him and the next moment, when he put his head on the pillow, felt the strain on his hair ease – the ribbon was taken off. Then a blanket covered him, and a hand entwined around his waist again, pulling him tightly to the chest behind his back that sent calming, precious warmth through his whole body. Soon he heard a quiet sniffing, but he still couldn’t fall asleep: he was thinking over his son’s words, remembering the feelings he’d got during the night, particularly those ones which he’d experienced before everything collapsed – and understood that all the anger and humiliation had gone into nothingness, the pain was fading away. And that sensation of warmth, with which his son had filled the emptiness inside him, didn’t sting anymore and now was only warming him, relieving the fading pain.

It was actually one of the happiest nights in his life.

At that moment, he noticed that the floor by the window was shimmering with pale, even light – the clouds had parted, and the beautiful white moon was reigning in the sky again. The rare taps of rain drops were occasionally broking the peaceful silence outside the window, and for a moment it seemed like all the worry in the world had finally faded away under the celestial light of its charming patroness, who even in the darkest night would always light the way for every creature living on this great and endlessly beautiful land.

_Light the way for the living…_

God.

He couldn’t remember when else he had felt such a strong love of _life_.

A life, which – he felt – had so, so little time left.

How much time it could take for a burned-out, lonely heart to go crazy in fear of losing the last thing it’d got left? A month? A year? Two…?

To reject his own life, so beautiful and short, in order to save another one, which had become the only meaning of his whole existence? The meaning of his _whole_ life?

If in desperation he couldn’t find another way out?

From those thoughts, something was tightening around his ribcage, almost crushing it to pieces – from the pain which was much stronger than anything else.

He suddenly heard a noise and felt his son snuggle up behind him, burying his nose into his neck, and a hand went further and took his arm again, twining their fingers together. And now it became so warm and comfortable that even the darkest and most anxious thoughts had left him, and for the first time in so many years he finally lost himself in such a quiet and pleasant dream.

Because there was still a weak and yet living flame of hope burning in his chest.

One night of happiness – one night of life – was definitely worth a thousand nights of cold and lifeless loneliness.

Even if a new day would kill the last hope.


End file.
